man’s debts, and buried him decently; and so Edmond’s father died, as he
had lived, without doing harm to anyone. I have the purse still by me—a
large one, made of red silk.”
“And,” asked the abbé, “is M. Morrel still alive?”
“Yes,” replied Caderousse.
“In that case,” replied the abbé, “he should be a man blessed of God,
rich, happy.”
Caderousse smiled bitterly. “Yes, happy as myself,” said he.
“What! M. Morrel unhappy?” exclaimed the abbé.
“He is reduced almost to the last extremity—nay, he is almost at the
point of dishonor.”
“How?”
“Yes,” continued Caderousse, “so it is; after five-and-twenty years of
labor, after having acquired a most honorable name in the trade of
Marseilles, M. Morrel is utterly ruined; he has lost five ships in two
years, has suffered by the bankrupt
